come rain or come shine
by finaljoy
Summary: Healing was hard. Healing was heady. Healing was heartfelt and everything Natasha had ever wanted. (au, epilogue to 'eyes blue')
1. one month

_AN Oh my goodness. I can barely believe we're here. I know I promised this epilogue eons ago, but this turned out to be a whole new sort of chaos, so there was a good deal of wrestling it into submission/expanding it from one or two chapters to something closer to five or six :O But now we are here and we are able to see Natasha, Clint, and Gracia's recovery done justice._

 _(also, apologies for inaccuracies in court procedure and therapy)_

 _A million and one thank yous to Red Bess Rackham and ThatGypsyWriter. You two are gifts and you have helped me through the many, many headaches of this story._

 _Title from the song "Come Rain or Come Shine" by Joe Williams._

* * *

 _natasha, it's good to see you. how have things been going?_

Clint, Natasha, and Gracia hadn't realized what a family entailed until they were in the middle of it, facing their problems down with the little knowledge they had. Things were slow to adjust. They were difficult, strange, delightful, worrisome, and so completely gratifying. But Natasha liked that, she liked the honest grit that came from making something, carving out happiness from the unforgiving marble that made up her life. She liked working for and receiving her proper reward.

She had known, sitting on the couch with Clint and Gracia, that things would be difficult. The Landlord had been arrested, but they would need to fight to get him his due punishment. Gracia still had a deadness in her eyes that Natasha wasn't sure how to fix, Clint held himself together with bands made of guilt and concern, and Natasha had nightmares and a distrust that would be slow to disappear. She knew healing would take more than new clothes, a different bed, and enough food to eat.

But it wasn't something that had to be done alone. That was probably the strangest thing about being out of the boarding house (aside from the freedom to think and act for herself); Natasha had someone else to rely on. And it wasn't just the covert friendship she'd had with Gracia. Clint was always ready and willing to help her through whatever she needed, which Natasha honestly didn't find that surprising. He had more than proved he was willing to walk through fire for her. The most surprising person, though, was Natasha's therapist. She was an older woman named Diane, and had a relaxed, easy going nature that Natasha liked. She always let Natasha take her time to say things. She let Natasha have her silence, if she needed it.

One thing that Diane insisted on was Natasha developing a routine. Natasha had been uncertain at first, but eventually she learned how to plan out her day according to what she wanted, and not what the Landlord demanded of her.

The best part of Natasha's day was undoubtedly the mornings. She and Gracia still retained habits from being creatures of the night, including ungainly mornings . Clint didn't seem to mind, though, smiling in the face of Natasha's irritability and Gracia's semi-consciousness. He was the shockingly bright side of the three of them, the cynicism and exhaustion of the dark having fallen away to reveal someone Natasha wished she had known sooner.

Once they were up and running, there was a whole world for the two of them to discover. The days, Natasha had come to learn, were something meant for good works. Daytime in the boarding house had been strange, in between moments in her life, hovering between going out to the streets and coming in from the streets and menial chores. They had been bland, tedious things, waited out with cigarettes, sleep, and personal maintenance that did little good.

Now they could be whatever Natasha wanted. And it wasn't just cooking and cleaning, either, as Diane had made it clear that Natasha was worth more than serving other people. Natasha had been adamant that she was only helping, and Diane explained that, yes, it was wonderful to help. But helping didn't mean she couldn't take time for herself. It had taken a few false starts, but Natasha eventually figured out what it meant to do things for herself. She took walks with Gracia, got to know the people in the charming townhouses nearby, visited museums and libraries, and tried to learn all of the things that had been kept from her for years.

The scariest and most exhilarating thing, though, was interacting with people _._ Natasha had never known there were so many different types in the world. Before, everyone had been filtered into her binary view of things. They were either marks or threats, stage pieces or main players. Shades of grey hadn't existed in her muddy and confusing world.

Now they surrounded her, varying levels of kindness and grace and humanity battling and coexisting with prejudice and selfishness and incivility. People were strange and complex and confusing to her in ways that she could not have imagined before. They astonished her with their beauty and ugliness, and even though it was hard for her to trust (and it was so, so hard for her to trust), Natasha found herself drawn to them. Humanity proved itself to be magnificent in ways she had never imagined before.

The only problem was that Natasha also had to remove the binary perception from herself. Life was about more than having ice and not having ice. There were walls around her soul she needed to take down, habits that needed to be destroyed, concepts that had to be built in order for her to be happy.

Happy. She had time to pursue being happy. She had time to discover who she was as an individual. She had the safety to trust people without making them bleed first.

That was what made the whole endeavor scary.

 _that's good to hear. i'm glad things are settling out for you. and with gracia, how have things been with her? last time we spoke, you said it was still a little rocky._

Gracia found her own therapist at Diane's recommendation, a bright eyed, eager woman named Melanie that tempered bone setting with a tender hug. At first, Gracia was hesitant with her and resisted all of her efforts. She made up excuses not to go to therapy sessions or sat in petulant silence as Melanie waited for her to speak. It had been weeks since she left the boarding house, and Gracia still refused to be completely cooperative. Sometimes she would talk and do the exercises Melanie suggested, while other times she would lash out in bouts of silence or hostility. Melanie didn't seem to mind. When Natasha expressed doubts, she just shook her head and smiled.

"Have you ever tried to get a teenager to do something they didn't want to do?" she asked. "It's kind of a nightmare. Honestly, I'm just excited to see her being comfortable enough to say no."

Natasha blinked in confusion. She'd never thought about it like that. Saying no was...well, it hadn't been an option before. It was a danger that resulted in girls getting kicked out, if they were lucky. No one said 'no' in the boarding house.

And, if Natasha was being honest, she was thrilled at the thought of Gracia being any form of normal, even if it was the moody kind. Gracia hadn't told Natasha very much about her past, but she suspected the girl had not known anything decent before the Landlord had claimed her. 'Normal' was every bit as precious to Gracia as it was to Natasha.

Natasha was determined to make things better for her, though. Natasha barely knew how to take care of herself, but something in her bones said that she would fight for Gracia to have a good life. She had helped Gracia find a home, but her responsibility for the girl went farther than that.

Natasha hesitated mentioning it to Clint at first, but Diane always insisted she speak to him about important subjects. That didn't stop the conversation from feeling like gravel caught in her throat.

"…Clint?" Natasha asked, staring up at the dark ceiling of their bedroom.

"Mm?" He sounded half awake, and she almost backed away from the conversation. But then she closed her eyes and forced herself through the words. Their relationship was more than just the big things. It covered the little things, too.

"I want to help Gracia."

"Me too. She won't let me go near her, though."

Though Gracia trusted Clint enough to stay in his home, it was painfully obvious that there was a wall between them. Gracia seemed to equate all men with clients, and Clint's easy respect for her boundaries didn't seem capable of breaking that. She tolerated being around him, but she never relaxed. Gracia always stayed a hair out of reach, remained silent unless Natasha was in the room, limited her interactions with him to the bare minimum.

"I wish I knew what to do about that," Natasha sighed.

"Maybe you'll have some better thoughts when it's light out," he said. Natasha broke into a smile and rolled over to put her arm around him.

"Maybe," she whispered, then kissed his neck.

 _don't feel discouraged that this hasn't been going as fast as you wanted. there's a lot there that needs to be addressed, everything from social skills to schooling._

There was so much more to making a little girl healthy and feel safe than either Clint or Natasha had expected. Sometimes Natasha couldn't keep herself from becoming over just how much was _wrong_ with Gracia, how much the Landlord had stolen from her. They were ugly, toxic moments, laced with a bitter frost she did not want to feel. Progress, though, was what saved her. Natasha clung to every little bit of progress and made it feel like a triumph, because that was the only way she knew how to work.

Gracia's education was one of the most glaring issues that needed to be addressed. Her basic knowledge was haphazard at best, different areas lagging far behind others. Melanie gave them a few recommendations on how to proceed shortly after Gracia began seeing her.

"She reads shockingly well. I hadn't thought she would be able to do half so well, considering. Did Hughes have any sort of policy on education?" Melanie asked.

Natasha shrugged. "He didn't really care."

"Okay. I did basic tests on math and science, just out of curiosity, but I think a tutor would really benefit her. You definitely don't want to stick her into a classroom full of kids, not just yet."

Melanie brushed a strand of blonde hair back from her face. She put her hands on her hips like she was trying to think of a strategy, bouncing on her toes. Natasha was convinced the woman didn't know how to sit still.

"Gracia really lacks in social aspects. There's a big wall that needs to come down before she's willing to talk to anyone, much less trust them. Children her age… From what I've seen, they can be vicious. But Gracia can be vicious right back and that's _not_ something we want either."

"So what do you recommend?"

"I'm not entirely certain," she sighed. She turned to her desk and picked up a piece of paper, toying with it a moment before handing it to Natasha. "I'm not positive what would be best for her. I _definitely_ think we should get a tutor, though. Here's a list of people that I think would work well with her, but I think you should review them with Clint. See how it goes with whichever one you choose, if you choose one."

"Is there anything _I_ can do?" Natasha asked, glancing over the information on the page.

"Get her around more people. Make small talk with librarians, neighbors, people in the park, anything. Little steps, of course, but every bit helps."

"Alright," Natasha said with a nod. "Thank you."

"Of course. Gracia has come a long way to find a better place, and I want these last few steps to be as smooth as possible."

Natasha deliberated over tutors with Clint, meeting with a few on Clint's lunch breaks. It was still disorienting to act like...she was capable. If Natasha thought about it too much, she would panic and everything would crash down on her and then she'd be unable to function. But as Clint was fond of saying, Natasha had to fake it 'til she made it. If she continued pretending to know where she needed to go, she would eventually stumble into the realm of capability.

Until they decided on a tutor, Natasha took Gracia out more. New York wasn't the friendliest city, but they found places to speak to strangers and melt some of the frost they both had in reserve. Natasha might have been imagining it, but she could have sworn Gracia had a bit of a bounce in her step with every trip.

 _you mentioned last time that your lawyer brought up legal guardianship for gracia?_

"If you're going to do anything that _sticks_ with this little girl, you're going to have to get custody," Warwick told them.

Natasha blinked in surprise. They had been working on her court proceedings for weeks, so the mention of Gracia caught her by surprise. Then her stomach twisted at the idea of a threat to her happy little family.

"Custody?" she asked, the word sounding strange and foreign on her tongue. It felt hostile. Clint was nodding, though, unsurprised by Warwick's statement.

"Okay. How can we do this the fastest, easiest way possible?"

"Get some lawyers specializing in civil suits and get the court to agree that you're the best option for Gracia to live with. I don't think there will be too much push back, poor thing's parents gave her to a damn _pimp._ Only real thing you've got to do is show it's a safe, healthy place for her to be in."

"How long do you think it will take?" Clint asked.

Warwick sighed, leaning back in his seat. "From the little I know, a few months. Anywhere from three to six. I'd assume she could stay with you until then, if everything checks out, but yeah, six months for it to be completely official. I would wait, though."

"Why?" Natasha asked, eyes boring into Warwick's.

He slid his gaze over to her, appraising. When he spoke, his words were careful but not overly comforting. Natasha valued Warwick for everything he had done for them, but she truly liked him for not treating her like she was fragile.

" _One_ court battle is enough of a headache, especially with the kind of bruiser Hughes is going to turn this into. His lawyer, Kilgrave…he's a nasty piece of work. Adding _another_ on top of it, on similar subject… Things might get complicated. Gracia's custody case should, _should,_ be an open and shut, but you can never tell with parents. They might use your past against you. I wouldn't take the risk."

Natasha nodded, stomach twisting in fear over Gracia's future, but her resolve hardened all the same. Clint was of the same mind.

"I want to help Gracia as soon as possible, but I want to do it _right,_ " he told Natasha on the drive back. Natasha stared out the window.

"I don't—this is all strange," she confessed. "I don't really…I've never dealt with any of this. I don't—" She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath. Clint was good, Clint was safe, Clint deserved the truth, even if it made her seem weak. "I don't understand much of this. I don't see how the two cases could conflict or how the court might take her from us. I don't…"

"I know, Natasha," Clint said, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "But you really think _I_ know any better? I got _no idea_ how to deal with kids. I…I dunno, try to treat her right."

"I'm not even sure if I know what that _means_. The boarding house…it's tainted everything. I can barely remember how my family took care of me."

"For me, I just do whatever my old man _didn't_ ," Clint said.

Natasha stayed quiet, not certain how to deal with Clint's stories of his childhood. She knew it was bad, but he had never handed her more than a few sentences at a time. She never wanted much more than that.

"Do you think this is what she needs, though?" she insisted after a few more street blocks of double parked cars and people in sharp suits. "Tutors and therapists…it doesn't feel like _I'm_ dealing with this, does that make sense? Whenever I walk out of a meeting with Melanie she always looks so nervous, like she thinks I'm going to leave Gracia because of all the work she needs. What if Gracia feels the same way? It used to be just us. I don't want her to think I'm pulling away."

"Have you talked with her about this?"

"Not really," she sighed. "Gracia doesn't have much to say about it. She hasn't mentioned having a problem with any of it, and I _know_ she'll be happy with us, but what if we're not doing what's right? What if we're not good enough for everyone else? What if they look at me and think—"

"Don't think about that," Clint said, voice firm. "Don't even think about it. You got out of that life and you're never gonna hafta do that again, I promise. Anyone who keeps Gracia away from us because of what happened to you two is out of their damn mind. Like Warwick said, open and shut."

"I don't want to put this off, though. Anything could happen and this…I'm not sure what's best for her."

"We have time, Natasha," Clint murmured, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

 _i love that clint is so supportive of you two. that just makes me smile. you don't find many people like him in this city. how is he doing, anyway?_

Clint had a good deal of healing of his own to do. His problems were quieter than Gracia or Natasha's, and he often ignored them for the sake of ensuring the other two received all the help they could get. There was a tiredness that Natasha always found in his little boy blue eyes, as well as a darkness that surfaced on bad days.

He didn't like talking about it. Natasha respected his need for silence, but that didn't keep her from feeling helpless about it. Here he was fishing down the stars for them, and yet she couldn't do anything in return. She couldn't be _useful._

"Nat, it's fine," he would say whenever he caught sight of the unhappiness in her eyes. "Just…some of these things can't be fixed by doctors or hugs, y'know? Don't worry about me, I'm not worth the fuss."

That always stabbed Natasha deeper than she thought it could. How could a man spend every single one of his breaths telling her that she was wonderful and worth so much when he didn't even believe it about himself?

Sometimes he would let her in, though, murmuring tiny, tangled up sentences that got lost in her hair and his resurging country accent. It only happened at night, when they were in bed and were yet again protected by the gauzy dark. Clint's words were terrified bruises as he confessed about his parents, how he found himself blaming his brother for things no one could control, how he never felt entirely sure he knew how to love someone in the way they were supposed to be loved.

Natasha listened and graced his forehead with tender, heartbroken kisses, because that was where all of these problems lived. If she could press enough of her love into his skin, maybe, _maybe_ he would start feeling that love for himself.

When he couldn't speak to Natasha, though, he talked to one of his friends. The two had met when Clint and Natasha had taken their break, when Clint had been begun addressing the nightmare that was his own life. His name was Phil, and he was the owner of a neat little deli on the edge of the expensive side of Brooklyn. Natasha had only met him a couple of times, but she noticed the bagful of wisdom he kept behind his mild smile. He was good for Clint.

What Natasha liked best, though, were the open, personal conversations she had with Clint. His confessions made her uneasy and his silence made her anxious, but when they just _talked_ , she felt light enough to float on air. Most of the time it was simple, idle conversation pieces passed back and forth when they were in bed or on a commercial break or sitting in the car. Sometimes they would branch onto more serious topics, but most of the time it was simplicity itself. She was comfortable enough to simply exist with Clint, to sit in silence or discuss the simplest of things. And that, she was sure, was the most sacred form of trust she could give.


	2. two months

_AN Thank you everyone for your warm response! This story was a genuine delight to write, because it's every single bit of the happiness and healing we wanted with_ eyes blue, _and then some._

* * *

 _i'm glad to hear everything's going alright in your world. have you…thought more about my suggestion from last time?_

Natasha had been perfectly fine with staying at home and keeping house. She loved being able to put the place in order, polishing and cleaning and improving her family's life until her love poured through every panel and dish and window. After so long of not having anything that was hers, she wanted to build something beautiful.

She also liked the time it gave her with Gracia. Natasha had learned that Gracia was a naturally quiet person and hadn't simply been forced into silence by the dangers of the boarding house. They worked to maintain their home without much conversation, but Natasha noticed the life returning to her eyes, bit by bit.

Diane insisted, however, that Natasha couldn't just hide away from society. She needed to step beyond the confines of her home. No longer was it enough to give people on the street a cool wave or a slight smile to the cashier. Natasha had to push herself more and more until she was just as comfortable in the world as everyone else. She had walls, same as Gracia, and it was vital that she not neglect her own development in favor of someone else's.

Diane's first few recommendations had almost made Natasha laugh. She refused the option of joining book groups, running parties, or gossip circles. The idea of returning to scheduled hours of pretend for the sake of other people made her head hurt. But, finally, after ages of searching and wondering and thinking, Diane had come up with one last suggestion.

"You could help with a homeless shelter."

Natasha had straightened at the proposal. Homeless shelter. It reminded her of the days she had spent scavenging the streets. She shifted in her chair, biting back protests.

"Hear me out," Diane said, sensing her resistance and holding up her hands. "There are plenty of types of jobs you could do there. They're always looking for sympathetic faces, but _empathetic_ faces…that's rare. I think you would give people hope, showing them that they can get themselves out of hard situations."

"I couldn't have without Clint," Natasha said flatly. No matter how she looked at it, there was no way Natasha could have found such an amazing home after the boarding house without him. She would have ended up alone and miserable like when she had been kicked out.

"You mean you had to wait until _he_ was ready to leave a life of prostitution?" Diane asked. She asked the question in that flat way she had, her raised eyebrow unimpressed.

" _No,"_ Natasha said defensively. "I was ready to leave. I wanted out of there, more than I ever had."

"Okay. So you _would_ have without Clint."

"But I wouldn't have found something so nice after."

"Nope, probably not. If he hadn't helped you, things would have been a whole lot harder. You are a rare, rare success story, Natasha. I'm not denying that. But you are still a success story. If your desire to improve things can help inspire even _one_ person to help themselves, then that's one person whose life has been improved."

Natasha still wasn't convinced.

"Look at it this way," Diane said, scooting forward in her chair. She had a spark in her eye that Natasha was starting to recognize. It was that spark that had made her become a therapist, Natasha thought. "If I were to pop in down there, in my nice work pants and blouse and pearl necklace," she said, swinging a hand at herself, "would anyone listen to me?"

Natasha snorted.

"Right _._ I kind of ooze a certain vibe. Even if I were to go down there in a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt, and an old jacket, do you think they'd listen to me?"

"They might."

" _Right._ But the moment I started talking, the moment I started handing out a Debby Do Good attitude and empowerment speeches, they'll turn right away. People only come to therapists if they want to or if they have to. Having my kind of clean, sterilized advice thrown around Harlem or something isn't going to get anyone anywhere. But if they talk to you and they hear their own tough story coming from your lips and then hear how it could evolve into _your_ success story, that'll do a lot more than anything I ever could!"

Natasha sniffed, still reluctant to believe her. "But if they don't _want_ help, then what good am I?"

Diane leaned back in her chair, a soft smile on her face. "I never said they didn't want _help,_ I saidthey didn't want _my_ help. Did you always not want help while you were on the streets?"

Natasha looked out the window and let out a sigh through her nose.

"Give it a thought, Natasha," Diane said. "Just think about it, if nothing else."

She did think about it. She thought about it every day as she took walks and did the dishes and lay in bed. She felt embarrassed when she brought it up to Clint, but he instantly brightened at the mention.

"Work at a shelter?" he asked, tilting his head.

They had gone out to lunch like normal lovely non-damaged people. It was a simple restaurant, but Natasha loved it for its candor. She was also nervous about discussing some of her past's ugliness under its pristine roof.

"Yes. Diane thinks it's a good idea. She…" Natasha sighed and shook her head. It was still very hard for her to admit when she was wrong. "She said that I should get out of the house more, that I should...take care of people that are not mine."

Clint's face spread into a wide smile at her choice of words, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Did she have any in mind?"

"You think this is a good idea?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you're a _success_ story, Natasha. You've done something everyone living on the streets needs to hear about. Do you realize that?"

" _Yes,_ " she said awkwardly. The words felt strange, even when she heard it again. She ducked her head, not ready to consider all those hours of terror and hate and fear and desperation a success. The Landlord had not trained her to consider herself a success.

"What's got you worried?"

Natasha shrugged and tore a piece off her roll. She nibbled at it and didn't meet his eye.

Diane and Clint seemed so excited by the idea of her going to help in a homeless shelter. They seemed to think that having evaded a miserable end counted her as something flawless, as someone that needed to be looked up to. And Natasha appreciated them for helping her and for caring about her and trying to understand what she had gone through, but sometimes it was so obvious that they _couldn't_ understand. If they could, then they wouldn't act like she was someone that was genuinely able to help.

The subject of her helping drifted away over the next few days. Natasha kept thinking over it, trying to decide whether her craving for improvement or the hilarity of her gall was stronger.

She couldn't _help_ people. She hadn't helped Clint. She hadn't helped Gracia. She had just trudged beside them as they faced their own problems, or better yet, found people that actually _could_ help them.

And yet there was some part of her that rejected the idea. A little seed had been planted inside her when Clint had reached out his hand and offered her his love, and it had only been watered when Gracia trusted her enough to share a room and keep her safe, and then it had been given sun when Diane smiled at her during every appointment and said she was doing good. They had made her believe with a terrifying certainty that she was worth something.

So, in theory…she could be worth something to so many more people.

 _yes, i understand it's very different from helping people you're familiar with. i know you're very focused on helping gracia right now. you said you finally got her a tutor?_

Progress came in the form of a tall thin tutor that had grown up in Brooklyn. His name was Marcus, his parents were from Trinidad, and he apparently had a scholarship to an Ivy League school. Marcus was shockingly polite, shaking everyone's hands and calling Natasha 'ma'am'.

Gracia had been hesitant to tutor with him even after they met over lunch. Natasha sensed she was reluctant to be alone with this man, but didn't know how to fix things. She didn't know how to assuage fears. Her own method was to lie to herself until they disappeared, buried so deep under denial that they ceased to exist. Clint, however, had a plan.

"Gracia," he said one morning, leaning against the counter so their eyes were level.

She met his gaze, nervous but transfixed, like she couldn't bring herself to turn from his blue, blue eyes.

"Do you want to learn with him?"

She shrugged, noncommittal.

"Are you worried what might happen?"

Gracia dropped her eyes.

Natasha held her breath as Clint spoke to Gracia, afraid of breaking the moment by butting in. Her connection with Gracia had been cast out of pain and desperation, trust forged overnight by sheer need. Clint had been biding his time for the last couple of months, but now it seemed he was ready to make bold strokes.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked. Gracia shifted as if about to leave the counter and escape the conversation. Clint leaned over to meet her eyes again. "Gracia. Would you like someone to stay with you?"

She hesitated, then looked into his face. "You don't have to."

"I know. Do you want me to? I'll stay if you want. Nothing's gonna happen to you, either way."

"Promise?" she whispered.

"I swear."

Gracia nodded and slid off the stool, hurrying to find something lighter.

Clint turned to Natasha, expression a mix of surprise and delight and hope. He melted into her arms, not having the words to express his joy.

That thin strand of trust doubled when Clint sat beside Gracia all through her first lesson, gently warning Marcus back when Gracia became uncomfortable. Natasha returned from the store to find the lesson finished and both men standing on the front porch.

"—hope you understand, she's had it really rough," Clint was saying, shifting aside to let Natasha step through to the door. She stopped beside him, though, quietly joining herself in the conversation.

"I get it. You mentioned she had some issues she was working through, and I'm fine with standing back and giving her space."

"Thank you. I'll call you in a couple days, after she's given her verdict."

Marcus nodded to the both of them and turned to walk down the street.

"He's a good boy," Natasha murmured, leaning into Clint's side. His arm wrapped around her effortlessly, no longer needing to hesitate or ask permission.

"He is. I hope Gracia warms up to him," Clint said, resting his cheek against her hair.

"She wants to learn," Natasha said. "Gracia wants to be normal, but she's also afraid of having to deal with a classroom of other kids."

"When do you have time to talk so much?" Clint grumbled, looking down at her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're at _work_ all day."

"Not today," he pointed out. She smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"That's good," she sighed. "I like spending time with all three of us."

 _see, it's the fact that you go the extra mile for people that makes me think you'd do so well at the shelter! do you have any clear thoughts on why you're so hesitant?_

It took a few days, but Natasha made herself revisit working at a homeless shelter with Clint. She knew he had been waiting for this, letting her broach the subject in her own time so he could deliver the ironclad confidence she needed. And Natasha didn't know if she _broached_ the subject, so much as gently nudged it while curling herself into a tight ball under the bed covers so nothing scary or dangerous could reach her.

"Do you _really_ think I could help people at a shelter?" she whispered.

Even after all this time, the night still proved to be the guard for her doubts. The dark and the late hour seemed to swallow her words, and for a moment Natasha thought that maybe she had imagined saying them, maybe she would keep them locked away safe in her chest where no one could hear or criticize them.

But then Clint let out a slow sigh and asked, "Do you want to do it?"

Natasha closed her eyes, both thankful he had not given her an easy out and yet also annoyed. If she _knew_ what she wanted to do, she would have been asking a different question.

"I'm torn," she confessed.

"What're you worried about?"

"Why…why would _anyone_ listen to _me?_ I've made so many mistakes, I'm still so _damaged,_ I'm not—I'm not—I'm a _mess,_ " she said, closing her eyes tight as tears made her choke on the words.

"Hey, look at me."

Natasha refused to turn away from the wall. Clint's hand found her hip, and he rolled her onto her back.

"Tasha, look at me."

She kept her eyes closed for another long moment, then made herself meet his gaze.

"It's okay to be a mess."

Natasha let out a harsh laugh and shook her head. "No it _isn't._ I'm just pretending to be okay every time I get out of bed. I mean, _look_ at me! I barely know how to _function_ most days, Clint! I'm pretending I know what I'm doing and I'm pretending I know what's best to take care of Gracia, but I don't and I'm terrified I'm messing everything up for me _and_ her! If I don't know what I'm doing, how the hell am I supposed to be there for other people?"

Clint propped himself up on one elbow, and even though she couldn't quite see his face in the dark she could feel his steady blue gaze on her.

"No one is expecting you to be perfect, Natasha."

"I couldn't be perfect if I _tried!"_

" _Natasha,_ " he said, and the steel in his voice made her stop. "You are allowed to be a mess."

She watched him for a long moment. Her hands ached from clenching around the bed covers and her jaw hurt from biting down on the panicky sobs dammed in her throat. They were caught in a smothering silence as Clint stared her down, waiting for further protests. When she spoke, she could only manage one word.

"Why?"

Clint let out a terribly slow breath. He sat upright to face her, and Natasha followed suit. His voice was low and promised to sit there and talk with her all night if that was what it took to convince her of this one fact.

"You had _horrible_ things done to you. No one blames you for what happened or what you did."

"But I'm not—"

"No one gives a _damn_ that you're not like everyone else, and no one expects you to be! You're _not_ okay, not yet, and that's fine. You're still healing, Natasha, you're trying so hard to get to normal and, honestly, sometimes it takes my breath away. All you're obligated to do right now is take care of yourself, but instead you're taking care of me and Gracia and building a home and making us feel loved and that's _amazing,_ Natasha. You don't see it but you've come _so far._ And people need to see things like this."

"No, Clint, stop. You and Diane keep acting like I'm some sort of _miracle,_ but I couldn't be here without you! I wouldn't have a nice apartment or a fancy therapist! The Landlord wouldn't be on trial and I don't know if I would even have _food_ to eat every day. You keep acting like I'm something special, but it's so _obvious_ to me that I can do _nothing_ for myself."

Clint shook his head, and the little slits of light coming from his blinds showed the torn smile on his face.

"No, you probably wouldn't be here without me. You wouldn't have all these conveniences. But Natasha, it doesn't _matter_ that you wouldn't have these nice expensive things. I mean, look at me," he said, voice catching on the last few words. "I had all the money in the _world,_ and it didnt mean one damn thing. I was just as much of a mess as you, Natasha. It was in a different way, but I swear to you I know what it's like to try and pull yourself out. I know it's hard to fix, I know it's slow to heal. And I know that it's _okay_."

Natasha pressed her hands to her mouth, hating the fact that she was full on crying now. She looked away from Clint. Seeing all of that hope and love and honesty in his face was almost blinding in the dark. But she trusted him enough to consider his words.

She leaned into Clint's chest and he didn't hesitate to grab her into a tight hug. It took Natasha a few seconds, but she managed to unfold herself enough to wrap her arms around him in return. He stroked her hair as she fought to control her breathing.

"You're very good at this," she whispered.

He laughed and shook his head. "I've been taking pointers from Phil. He's had to go through a lot of this with me."

Natasha closed her eyes and melted into him for a while. Clint was the only person that had told her she was okay.

 _that's fine, natasha. it's okay to have doubts, everyone's got them. take your time to think about this. back to the topic of gracia, real quick while i remember. you said you've decided you want guardianship, correct? how did your meeting with the new lawyers go?_

The lawyers Warwick recommended were neat and efficient. Natasha expected the men to be like Warwick; wrapped in crisp suits and wearing sharp smiles. And at first glance, that was exactly what they were. Their expressions were reserved and professional, holding back their thoughts and plans until they had a full read on the situation. But Natasha looked closer, learning from Clint's trick of gazing into someone's soul.

The lawyers were neat and efficient, yes, but one had a sunny sort of brightness beneath his serious expression, and the other was blind with a cool reserve hiding in his wide smile.

Natasha gave them a firm handshake instead of hanging back and offering a distant nod.

"Miss Romanoff," the blind one said, "my name is Matt Murdock. This is my partner, Foggy Nelson."

"Thank you for helping me. Thank you for helping Gracia," she said. They both softened, just a little bit.

The meeting was gentler than she had thought. Gracia sat between Natasha and Clint, staring at the men across the table as they explained the complexities of the case, how hopeful they were that things would pass with no difficulty. Their warmth was genuine as they directed their comments to Gracia as much as Natasha and Clint.

After a while, Matt turned toward Natasha. "Miss Romanoff, might I have a word with you outside?"

She blinked and glanced at Gracia. The girl gave a brief frown, then smoothed the concern from her face. She still didn't feel comfortable enough to show discontent.

"I'll be right back," Natasha promised, squeezing her hand. Gracia nodded, granting final permission for Natasha to leave.

Matt stood up and held the door open for Natasha. Foggy continued discussing things with Clint and Gracia, wasting no time.

Natasha waited in the office's waiting room, eyes glancing around at the furniture and expensive view. She noticed now that the office of Nelson and Murdock was more welcoming than the sleek leather and dark grey of Warwick's.

Matt led her to his private office, shutting the door quietly behind them. He walked to his desk, his hand tracing the edge of the furniture ever so slightly.

"Miss Romanoff…I didn't want to address this with Gracia in the room, but could you please tell me the full extent of Gracia's abuse while under the employ of Calvin Hughes?"

"Didn't—didn't Warwick tell you?"

"Mr. Warwick gave my partner and I a rough outline. You didn't provide him with many details, did you?"

"No, I guess not," she sighed, looking away. Matt couldn't see her, but she felt certain he saw more of her than even Clint did.

"Here, why don't we sit?" Matt said. He gestured at an armchair in front of his desk as he settled behind the desk. Natasha hesitated, then took a seat. It still didn't feel real. Speaking about the boarding house still felt disobedient, wrong in the most basic way.

"Ah…Gracia was in the boarding house almost three years," Natasha began, straining to find the muted details from when the little girl hadn't mattered to her. "She was put to work like everyone else. The Landlord, he has…had a system. Gracia came in at the bottom and was picked on by the other girls."

"How?"

"Several ways. Positions were so fragile there. One day you could be the strongest of his girls, then the next anyone could pick on you. And once you get knocked down, it's hard to climb back up. A little girl like Gracia…she didn't have a chance on her own."

Natasha let out a shuddery breath as she remembered the torment that had flown around the boarding house. Looking back made her stomach twist. How could she have been hurt so mercilessly by the other girls, and then rationalized doing it to someone else? How could she be made to be so _horrible?_

"We would do anything to make the weak ones feel _less._ There was only so much happiness to go around," Natasha explained, the reasoning sounding thin on her tongue. But Matt's expression didn't morph into disgust or contempt, simply remained serious and sad. "Girls called her names, took things from her, pushed or hit her sometimes. Then—"

Natasha held her breath and glanced away. She didn't want to tell him. She did not want to soil Matt's perfectly fine life with something so ugly.

"Then there was the Landlord. Gracia was just a girl so she didn't get it so bad, but he was worse than the other girls. It wasn't often, not unless you got on his bad side, but he would destroy our things, hurt us, take away our privileges. And even though Gracia was only a kid, sometimes he would…sometimes…"

Matt gave her a moment after her voice failed, then shifted and cleared his throat. "And she worked, like you?"

"Every night," Natasha murmured. "We had quotas to meet, money to pay. Gracia was good, she got her money in so the Landlord didn't bother her much, but…the first time I really spoke to her, he was trying to—trying to get her into his room."

Natasha knew how to watch for the little tells and twitches that told a person's mood. But it didn't take an expert like her to see Matt's face close off, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he leaned back. To his credit, he kept his voice level when he spoke.

"When was that?"

"Forever ago," Natasha sighed. "Over a year. She wasn't _really_ important to me, then or even a while after. But she started to hang around, she became one of the few people that spoke to me. And then we stayed together."

"Do you know anything of her situation before she came to the boarding house?"

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head. "Gracia never speaks about her parents."

"Alright. Thank you for your honesty," Matt said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. Anyone seeing him now would never have guessed a few moment ago he had been quietly seething, biting down hate over what had happened to a little girl.

"Thank you for helping us," Natasha whispered as the office door opened, revealing Foggy, Gracia, and Clint. Foggy seemed to have let his formal professionalism go, as he was now practically bouncing as he spoke to Gracia. She wasn't quite speaking back to him, but Natasha thought she was hiding a smile.

Matt nodded at her, expression still so serious. "Of course. We'd be equally responsible if we didn't try to help."

* * *

 _AN I just love getting deeper into Gracia and Natasha's story. Natasha is already well on her way to recovering, but Gracia's a harder thing to grapple with. I want Gracia to flourish and be happy! I want Natasha to be happy! I want Clint and Foggy and Matt to be happy! I just want people to be happy._


	3. four months

_AN Oh man, this chapter is one of my favorites. Now that Natasha's more open and trusting with people, she's far more willing to get to know them. She's also more aware of what other people are thinking and feeling rather than just focusing on herself, which is an exciting sign of progress :D_

* * *

 _how have things been with your family?_

Natasha had thought she knew the boundaries of her new life. She had thought that they stopped just short of Clint's family, but apparently he thought different.

"You want us to do _what_ with them?" she asked, staring at Clint as he drove the three of them to some fancy restaurant for dinner.

"Meet them," he said, checking his mirrors to change lanes. "I mean, things have mostly settled down now, so I thought it would be a good idea for everyone to meet each other. I think you'd like Barney. He's honest."

And a mess, according to reports given over a midnight haircut. But no one in the car was able to judge.

"What do you expect to happen?" Gracia asked, sounding uncertain.

"Honestly, I dunno. Maybe we'd get lunch or something, go to the park. Whatever you guys want."

"That…doesn't sound bad," Natasha said. She glanced back at Gracia. "Does that sound okay with you?"

"I don't know," she hedged. She looked out the window to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Do you _not_ want to meet them?" Clint pressed, looking at her in the rear view mirror. Gracia sighed in annoyance. Clint had an unerring ability to ask the direct questions they didn't want to answer.

" _I don't know,_ I just…I don't want them to be _weird_ about us."

"Us?"

"And where we come from."

Natasha glanced at Clint, whose expression hadn't changed. _Did_ Barney know about their background?

"He knows the bare facts," Clint acknowledged. "But I swear I'll break the nose of anyone who gives you crap for what you went through, doesn't matter who they are."

"No, you _wouldn't_ ," Gracia scoffed. "Warwick would kill you if you did."

Natasha and Clint had filled her in on the details of how Natasha had left the boarding house. She had hung on to every word about buying new clothes, eating breakfast together, and generally establishing a new life for Natasha. Gracia had especially loved hearing how Warwick had given Clint hell for punching the Landlord, second only to the actually punching itself.

"Yeah, but it'd be worth it," Cling said frankly. "If I didn't take care of you guys, what the hell good am I?"

Gracia still snickered in the backseat, but Natasha noticed that her smile lingered.

 _clint wants you to meet his family, that's great! do you think this is because gracia has finally warmed up to him?_

Sometimes, Natasha and Gracia took walks early in the morning. The first time they had done it, Clint had gone on a business trip to Atlantic City. He had kissed Natasha on the cheek and given Gracia a high five (she wasn't comfortable for a hug, yet, but she liked slapping his hand hard enough to make it sting), and then he was off to the airport. Natasha had promised that they would be fine by themselves, and they were. Life continued on as normal, which was a thrilling form of confirmation. They didn't need him to be happy or survive.

The bed felt too big, though. Natasha found it hard to fall asleep as she lay there, acutely aware of the space where Clint should have been. She'd never had a sleeping place that big all to herself before. Either she had slept on a small, single person mattress, or she had shared a bed with at least another person. The extra pillows and blankets and bodies had made her feel a little less alone. Natasha piled up pillows and an extra blanket to fill the space where Clint should have been, and tried to fall asleep.

Natasha woke up early in the morning. She picked out shapes on the ceiling, thinking it was far too quiet without Clint there. The clock said it was almost seven. She sat up in bed and rustled around for some clothes.

"What're you doing?" Gracia asked.

Natasha jumped and turned to find her peeking around the edge of the doorframe. She smiled and finished adjusting her sweater.

"I couldn't sleep. It…it felt empty without Clint here."

Gracia nodded seriously, a slight frown forming on her face. "He fills up the whole house when he's here."

Natasha watched her for a moment, noticing the way Gracia shifted from foot to foot on the cold hardwood floor. She still looked so small in her pajamas, which were nothing more than her requested oversized shirt and baggy sleep pants.

"Are you hungry?" Natasha asked.

Gracia shook her head, but stayed in place.

Natasha glanced toward the window. The morning light was a thin grey, barely sifting through the blinds. The days were yet again getting colder, and sometimes a layer of frost could be found on the windows when she woke up.

"I think I might go for a walk," Natasha told Gracia. "Do you want to come?"

She thought for a moment and nodded. She disappeared from the doorway, then returned fully clothed in record time. Natasha smiled as Gracia sloppily put on a beanie, fighting the oversized sleeves of her sweatshirt. Whereas Natasha loved the practicality of pants and comfortable shoes, Gracia adored baggy clothing. Baggy clothes hadn't existed in the boarding house.

"Where are we walking?" Gracia asked, holding Natasha's banana and muffin as Natasha filled a thermos with hot chocolate.

"I don't know," Natasha said. "Just for a walk. Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"

Gracia hesitated, then grabbed another banana.

They didn't say anything for a few blocks, the two of them eating their simple breakfast and sharing the hot chocolate. Then Natasha asked, "How do you feel your case is going?"

"I don't know," Gracia said, kicking an acorn down the sidewalk. "Warwick said Matt and Foggy were good, though, right?"

"Yes. He wouldn't have sent us to them if they couldn't help."

Gracia nodded. They waited for a bus to pass, then crossed the street.

"If they win the case for us, does that mean I never see my parents again?"

Natasha lowered the thermos from her mouth without taking a drink. She didn't know how to answer that question. She didn't know if she was _allowed_ to answer that question. Natasha had a frightfully unforgiving policy toward people who caused others to suffer. At the same time, she didn't want to make a family at the cost of someone else's.

Even if they _had_ given their little girl to prostitution.

"I…don't know. I don't think we, well, Clint and I, are the ones to decide that. I think it depends on what we ask for in court? We would have to check with Matt and Foggy. Do you… _want_ to see your parents?"

"I don't know," Gracia said with a light shrug. They walked a little farther, and then she said, "Foggy's funny."

Natasha smiled, remembering their last meeting with Nelson and Murdock. After the official business had finished, Foggy had entertained Gracia with tales of his legendary xylophone skills. He had offered her a highly coveted position in the new band he was performing, if she could master the kazoo in time.

"Yes, he is. He's very…happy."

"It's weird, 'cuz Matt seems sad."

Natasha looked at her for a moment. It seemed Gracia had seen through Matt's pleasant veneer just as well as she had. Only, Natasha didn't think of Matt as 'sad'. The suppressed flash of rage he'd shown at hearing the abuse Gracia had gone through was a little too sharp for that.

"I suppose people would say we're sad, too," Natasha pointed out. "He's probably been through a lot and trying to deal, like us."

Gracia made a noncommittal sound and put her hands in her pockets. Natasha finished her banana, already thinking about what she would tell Clint when he called later that day.

"Why is it always quiet in the morning?" Gracia asked.

Natasha scanned the subdued street and shrugged. Other than them, a lone jogger, and a garbage truck, the streets were still.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe because everyone's not quite awake yet."

"You always came home around this time," Gracia told her.

She looked at Gracia again, this time in surprise. Gracia very rarely mentioned the boarding house, but here she had brought it up by herself.

"That's true. But I wouldn't say I was awake when I came back," she said, forcing out a thin smile.

"I don't think I was awake until I came here," Gracia mused. She nibbled on a piece of Natasha's muffin like she hadn't said anything important.

Natasha sighed through her nose. She was always amazed at the way Gracia could talk about such horrible truths like they were nothing. Everyone else was aware their reality was awful and was resentful that they didn't have something better, but Gracia only accepted it as fact. She seemed more confused by having choices than by being forced into prostitution.

But then, Diane had said the same about Natasha. She had been appalled by the facts Natasha listed off like they were nothing. She still had to remind Natasha on occasion that some of the things she thought were normal were wrong.

"Gracia…going back to what you said earlier, do you like living with us? With me and Clint?"

"I guess."

"No, really. If you could choose anywhere, anywhere at all, where would you go?"

"The beach," she said without a pause. "Some place where the fish are right at the shore and you can swim with them. But I only wanna go if you were there."

"Yeah?" Natasha asked, wrapping her arm around Gracia's shoulders.

"Yeah."

"What about Clint?"

Gracia looked at Natasha, eyebrows furrowing. "I thought he'd come with you."

"He's not tied to my hip, Gracia," she teased. "He gets to go wherever he wants."

Gracia ducked her head and mumbled something Natasha couldn't understand. She laughed and squeezed Gracia's shoulders, then put her hands in her pockets.

"The beach, though, huh? Like, somewhere tropical?"

"Yeah. I would like that."

"Me too."

They turned a corner and walked beneath large maple trees. The leaves had already started to turn gold, adding a shock of color to the muted greys and browns of the neighborhood. Natasha kicked at a fallen leaf, smiling slightly as her foot missed and it stayed still.

"Would he not want to come, though?" Gracia asked.

"What?"

"Would Clint not want to come if I went to the beach?" Gracia turned to her, a serious frown on her face.

"What? Of course he would. Did you think I meant—yes, of course he'd want to come."

Gracia nodded, though she looked unconvinced.

Natasha put a hand on her shoulder, drawing the girl's attention again. "If you asked him, he would gladly come."

"Okay," Gracia said. She ran her fingers along the leaves of a shrub and looked down the street.

 _that's good! that's very good! did you tell clint? great. so, how did the court case last tuesday go?_

One of the hardest things about Natasha's new life was having to face the old one. She would have been content to know the Landlord had been arrested and never think of him again, but life was rarely that simple. As Warwick had warned her, court dates would ensue. But Natasha had never considered how difficult it would be to look at the Landlord in the bright lights of the courtroom and see his face clearly for once.

As promised, Gracia spoke in court. She kept her dark eyes fastened on Warwick as he eased her story out, almost whispering how the Landlord had not cared she was a child, that he had sent her out just like the others. Her eyes darted over to Natasha a few times and maybe even the jury once, but never the Landlord himself. Natasha doubted Gracia was steady enough to withstand the sleek arsenic in that man's eyes.

Natasha's palms were sweaty when she was called up, but Warwick gave her a reassuring nod as she settled into her seat. Her testimony felt brittle on her tongue and her skin crawled as everyone stared at her. She closed her eyes. She could do this. Warwick had coached her how to do this. She could get through without her ice.

There had been a strange touch of satisfaction in her chest when she told the court just what the man before her had done. She told them about small bedrooms with no lock, a vicious hierarchy instituted by the Landlord, money extorted with fear of police, pain, and eviction, when she told them of blood, needles, beatings in the back lot for having made something for herself. They wouldn't look her in the eyes as she soldiered on, eyes set, voice low. The jury fidgeted and squirmed as she explained what happened, horrified by truths they could no long turn away from.

Natasha knew before she left the stand that she had struck the Landlord a devastating blow.

Warwick hadn't been lying when he'd said the Landlord would fight her tooth and nail in court, though. She thought she could handle it. After all, she had survived the boarding house. Natasha actually let herself think things were going to be alright for a few moments. Then the Landlord's lawyer, Kilgrave, tore her apart.

It was different from anything she expected. It wasn't some desperate, equally damaged girl hissing insults at her in the dark, it was a fully grown man striding before an audience, laying out twisted facts and false suppositions to make her appear guilty. The jury looked at her with such disgust and pity at the lawyer's words, feeling bad for her and hating her in the same breath.

 _I thought you said there were dozens of girls in this alleged brothel. Why have only two taken the stand; you and a little girl that seems undyingly loyal to you? I find it very strange that you only sought legal action against Mr. Hughes after you found yourself a backer in Mr. Barton. And you're currently living with him, aren't you? You acknowledged yourself that you were close with Mr. Hughes, did you get bored with him when Mr. Barton came along?_ _You're a very appealing woman, Ms. Romanoff, it's easy to like you when you want someone to. Perhaps Mr. Barton is a little bit more liberal with his affections than Mr. Hughes. Those clothes certainly seem very nice, better than anything a small time, respectable businessman like my client could offer. With all of this evidence before us, it seems very much like you have been enjoying the comforts men can offer you before you get bored and move on to your next victim._

She felt sick. All of the progress she had made in recovering from the nightmare that was living in the boarding house worked against her now. She had no layer of ice that kept her cruel and safe against what everyone else thought. Now the lies and lies and _lies_ that this man slathered onto her skin made it hard for her to breathe.

Natasha tried following Warwick's advice to not become angry, and at first she struggled to respond without lashing out at Kilgrave. Then she felt paralyzed with doubt. It all seemed so damn _plausible._ She knew women did things like that all the time. _She_ might have even done it, if the circumstances were different.

No, she wouldn't have.

Maybe she might?

A recess was called and she stumbled off the stand, hardly able to breathe as Kilgrave smirked at Warwick and the Landlord sneered as she passed. Warwick instantly appeared at her elbow, escorting her out into the hall.

"Keep it together, girl, keep it together. Don't let them see your tears," he murmured into her ear, hurrying her toward the bathroom. He offered her a handkerchief, and Natasha tried to smother her shaky panting in the fabric.

Warwick pushed open a door and gestured her inside. Natasha was aware enough to hear him order a woman from the room, her hands still wet from the sink. She closed her eyes she broke into hideous, shaky sobs.

"How could he _say_ that," she gasped, hands shaking as she wiped at her face. _Kilgrave._ It wasn't surprising the Landlord had found a monster in a suit. "How could he—I'm not _seducing_ people to get myself a better life! I didn't sleep with Clint because I knew he had money, I did it because the Landlord _made_ me. I didn't go to the Landlord because I thought he could get me out! I _knew_ he was bad, I knew it from the beginning!"

If anything, the Landlord had seduced her. Natasha had heard the ugly whispers about him before she became one of his girls, and even though she had been cautious at his approach, he had lulled her into feeling safe. He bought her clothes, gave her lovely compliments, and stroked her hair like she was precious. He made her feel like she was special.

And then he had made her feel like she was a slave.

Natasha bit back the words, refusing to detail that particular injustice. She had told Warwick the premise of what had happened, but since he had decided not to use it in court she never handed over the details. There was still so much _awful_ in her life that no one knew.

"I know, Natasha," Warwick said, keeping a hand on her shoulder. She pressed her fist to her mouth in an attempt to stuff the sobbing back.

"I don't know why this is even _bothering_ me," she said, forcing out a fake laugh. She needed to be strong, she needed to show she was capable of making it through the rest of the day. "This shouldn't be bothering me! But he just kept talking and talking, he never shut up! His words got into my head and I couldn't think, they sounded so true! How can the jury believe me if _I_ barely believe me!?"

"We'll be fine. Don't worry about that, I can handle Kilgrave."

"No, I know, I trust you. I just feel so _pathetic._ I'm _harder_ than this, I dealt with worse for years. Why is this bothering me _now?_ "

"That doesn't matter," Warwick said, looking her head on. His eyes were serious and wide behind his tortoise shell glasses, the sincerity in them shocking her. "It doesn't matter that you've dealt with worse. It's actually really awful that you have, and I hate that man for putting you through this."

He huffed out a sigh and turned away from her. Natasha pressed her hands flat over her mouth as she watched him grab paper towels from the dispenser. It seemed like he needed a few moments, as well.

Warwick handed them to her, seeming to have composed himself. "It's alright Natasha, we prepared for this. I warned you the day you and Clint walked into my office that they would do this. It's obvious, but damn, it is an easy target."

Natasha wiped at her face. She grunted in annoyance when she saw the smudges of black on the paper towel from her makeup. She probably looked a mess.

"Where's Clint?"

"He's still out there with Gracia. I didn't seem him when we left the courtroom."

She nodded, eyes still on the paper towel. "I'm sorry I'm making this hard for you. Me running out probably didn't help."

"No, don't blame yourself for anything. We don't know if anything has happened yet."

"But it _didn't_ help, did it?"

Warwick gave her a long look. "I don't know. The jury could see it as guilt or they could see it as revulsion. We just have to show that you're _not_ the one at fault. It's not going to be hard, Natasha. We have _so much evidence,_ do you realize that? Some of the stuff you told me is awful. It's _all_ awful, but some of it…" Warwick shook his head. "Who would come up with lies like that out of spite?"

Natasha's lips curled in a tight smile as Alexandria's face flashed into her mind. Mean, bitter Alexandria, self-conscious Alexandria, hateful Alexandria. She had fought so hard to ruin Natasha, yet every attempt failed. Even though Natasha's stomach turned at the memory of her hollow, rabid expression, she understood why the girl had hated her so much. Regardless of what had happened, Natasha seemed to win. She always came back, she always found grace, she always found safety. It didn't matter that in reality Natasha had been clinging with bloody fingertips. Her existence defied everything the boarding house threatened.

She was a success story, just like Clint said.

"Here, come here," Warwick said, gesturing her toward the sink. "We've got a few minutes before we need to get back in there. Fix your face, it'll be alright."

Natasha forced herself to take another shaky breath. She had packed a few essentials from her makeup kit on Warwick's advice, just in case something like this happened.

Warwick leaned against the counter as she cleaned up the streaks of mascara and eyeliner on her cheeks. He folded his arms and watched the empty stalls as she worked.

"How do you do this every day?" she asked, eyes focused on her reflection. "I can barely make it through my own case, much less a thousand others. How can you go in to work?"

Warwick sighed through his nose, but when Natasha looked at him he had a slight smile on his face. "It's easy to do stuff when you think it's right. It's not like I'm not bothered—this bothers the _hell_ out of me—but it's a bit better when I know I'm trying to fix things. You get some sharky people like Kilgrave or that nightmare Hogarth from Hell's Kitchen, they're there for the thrill of it. They like the power they have over other people or whatever. And yeah, I get it, it's a rush when you win, but damn, winning shouldn't be for the sake of winning when you're holding people's lives in your hands."

Natasha gave a small laugh as she looked at Warwick, her mascara wand held in the air. "You're not quite the person I thought you were when we first met."

Warwick raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah? And who was that guy?"

"Someone made of granite. I liked that you trusted me and cared enough to help, but I didn't think you liked people that much."

He scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Don't kid yourself, I've got plenty of granite. It's always the first thing people see. Greg's always saying, though, ' _Andy, get over yourself and just let people know you like them'._ It's a bit of a mess."

"Greg?"

"We've been seeing each other for a while. Moved in together last August."

"And he calls you ' _Andy'_?" Natasha asked. She wrinkled her nose at Warwick's crisp suit and neat hair. "That's _also_ not the person I thought you were."

"Yeah," he laughed. "It's not the person I thought I was, either. Come on, if you're done we should get back into the courtroom."

* * *

 _AN Guys. Why have we not crossed over the movie world and the Netflix world of the MCU yet? I don't get it. WE HAVE SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES **JUST LET US USE THEMMMMMM.**_


	4. six months

_AN Y'know, normally I'd say something like 'Natasha's had it rough, someone give her a hug'. But she IS getting hugs in this story, she's getting tons of literally and figurative hugs and that just delights me to no end._

* * *

 **six months**

 _so you decided on a shelter! how has that been, are you liking it?_

Natasha was nervous the first time she went down to the shelter. Then again, she had been nervous before she even decided on doing it. Calling their office was its own sort of trial, but the man on the phone had been quiet and accommodating. That didn't stop a bit of her anxiety as she got ready, though.

Natasha paced around the house, restlessly checking her appearance, picking up things then putting them down, and nibbling on food because she couldn't actually stomach a proper meal. Gracia alternated between watching the television and Natasha squirm. She didn't say anything, just turned to peer at her over the back of the couch and gaze at her silently. Natasha cast Gracia a few looks, but kept moving to keep from saying something waspish.

Finally, Natasha dropped onto one of the bar stools and put her head in her hands. Doubts and excuses and worst case scenarios all clamored in her head, blocking out proper thought.

Natasha let out one long, slow breath. She needed to follow Diane's advice and calm herself down. She clamped her hands over her ears so she couldn't hear the dog next door or the tv or the cars outside. It was just her heart and her lungs; expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting, expanding…

She laid her head on the counter and closed her eyes.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

It might have been important for other people to see her and the possibility of finding a new life, but at the moment it seemed absolutely ridiculous. How _on earth_ was she supposed to help other people when she was having a panic attack just _thinking_ about it?

"Are you scared to go alone?" Gracia asked.

Natasha straightened with a gasp. She had forgotten Gracia was there. Embarrassment heated Natasha's face, but made herself face the little girl.

"I—uh—I…yes," she admitted. "I'm scared to go at all."

"Do you want me to come?"

Natasha blinked. Her immediate instinct was to say _no_ , she absolutely didn't want anyone to see her potentially hideous failure. But Gracia had witnessed Natasha do much, much worse. Gracia would accept Natasha even if she made a mistake.

"Do you _want_ to come?" Natasha asked.

Gracia leaned over the back of the couch, her brown eyes lighting up. "Yeah!"

Natasha nodded, then glanced at the clock. If they left now they would be early, but that couldn't hurt. And if Natasha stayed in the house a moment longer she might scream.

"Then get your coat."

Gracia bounced off the couch and up the stairs to grab her things. Natasha managed a smile through her nerves. Gracia was still a fairly reserved person, but every day broke down a little more of her walls. She no longer felt the need to hide her excitement over something.

She returned moments later, zipping up her jacket and waiting patiently as Natasha put on her shoes. Gracia shadowed Natasha's steps as they left, then skipped to the sidewalk while Natasha locked the door.

"What do you think it's going to be like there?" she asked as they walked to the subway.

"I don't know," Natasha admitted. "Sad, most likely."

"Will there be people like us?"

"Former prostitutes?" Natasha asked. The word still felt hard on her tongue, a disgusting label that clung to her skin at night. "Possibly. But I think they'll be more like Rae than us."

"Rae didn't look very good at the trial," Gracia remarked.

Rae had watched the exchange between Warwick and Kilgrave at the back of the courtroom. She had fidgeted and bitten her nails before finally excusing herself to the bathroom. The girl had returned bleary and stoned out of her mind, then left after lunch. It was a tragedy, honestly. Rae was free from the Landlord, but she had no interest in freeing herself from the broken misery of the streets.

"There will probably be a wide range of people there," Natasha continued. She didn't like talking about Rae. Not when she blatantly refused to help herself.

"Will they be mean like some of the girls at the boarding house?"

Devon suddenly sprang to mind, quiet and considerate as he guided Natasha through sleeping on the subway. Her throat was too tight to speak, so she bought herself time by buttoning up her coat all the way.

"Some, maybe, but not all." Natasha said. The cold air cut at her face, pushing back the tears. "Like everyone, they all vary."

Gracia nodded and stared at the sidewalk.

They were quiet on the subway; Natasha from stress and Gracia from habit. Natasha envied the way Gracia could sit alone with her thoughts, easily soaking in the world around her with all its beauty and flaws. She wasn't oblivious to Natasha's nerves, though. Part way through the trip, Gracia put her hand on Natasha's bouncing knee. They remained quiet, but Natasha managed to be still.

Once they reached the shelter, Gracia stopped outside the door.

"Don't let them treat me like I'm dumb, okay?" she asked, not meeting Natasha's eye.

Natasha watched her for a moment, heart melting ever so slightly. She smiled and put a hand on Gracia's shoulder. "I won't."

In all, helping at the shelter was different than Natasha expected. It was full of people yet perfectly neat, run with military precision. It was also very worn down. Both the people and the walls around them had seen far better days, rough patches worn into them by time and neglect.

The woman that greeted them was blonde with a big smile. "Hi, I'm Michelle. You're Natasha, right?"

"Yes. I brought—" How was she supposed to refer to Gracia to other people? "—my friend with me. Is that…is that alright?"

"Oh, yeah, sure! We'll just log her in as a visitor instead of a volunteer. In a few years she can officially help, but not until she's eighteen."

Michelle wrote their names on a set of stickers and handed them over. She chattered about statistics, how important it was to have people volunteer, what a boost fresh faces were to the inhabitants of the shelter. Natasha's anxiety dissipated as Michelle guided them through the building, quickly establishing herself as a friendly to a fault.

The people in the shelter glanced at the three of them with slight interest, but none committed to full on staring. It was like Natasha was back in that hopeless week after being kicked out. Everyone looked numb and out of place, fragments of a better life that had fallen away. An ache formed in Natasha's chest as she watched them. She doubted she could do the miraculous wonders Clint and Diane expected, but she needed to sit down with at least one of them and tell them that it would be okay. Not necessarily better, definitely not perfect, but _okay_.

Gracia stayed close to Natasha's side as Michelle continued with the tour. Her eyes were wide as she took in all of the details, but she remained silent. Finally, Michelle stopped before a table and a tall stack of sheets.

"Each person gets a top sheet and a fitted sheet," the woman explained. "You just have to hand them out. If you run low, there's another container there, and then we have some more in the back when that's empty. You'll be working with Robbie today, who was here a second ago…oh, here he is!" she said, waving at a man that walked into the room.

Robbie smiled and introduced himself with a curt "I'm Robbie," and a handshake. Natasha was relieved to find that, while perfectly polite, he was more reserved than their guide.

"We'll start the line in about ten minutes, so acquaint yourself with the area!" Michelle said. "Robbie will help you with anything you need. Gracia, you can't technically help, but it'd be great if you went through and talked to some of the people here. You don't have to say a lot, just be friendly and show you're interested if they want to speak."

Gracia flashed a nervous look at Natasha, though Natasha couldn't do much more than shrug helplessly. Gracia sighed, then gave a quick nod.

"Okay," she said, slouching a little bit. Then she straightened slightly, shoulders sliding back as Melanie was always encouraging her to do. Natasha watched her walk away with Michelle, heart in her throat.

"Alright, Natasha, here's what you do," Robbie said, grabbing her attention. "Basically, you smile, hand the people their sheets, and in the few seconds you see them, let them know you're here because you want to be. These people are used to people not looking them in the eye and acting like they're not human beings, so—"

"I get it," she said, cutting Robbie off. She smoothed her hand over a fitted sheet to avoid meeting his eyes. "This is a place where they come to feel human."

Robbie was quiet for a few moments, watching her stare at the sheet.

"Yeah," he said softly. "You got it."

 _this is good! i'm glad you feel like you can help. you can hear a thousand people give a thousand reasons why you should do something, but ultimately it_ is _down to you. and gracia came with you! how is she doing, by the way?_

Gracia's progress with Marcus came in leaps and bounds. After their first few sessions she began to settle into a schedule of reading and studying. Clint eased out of the obvious protective role, staying in the room but giving them space as Gracia adjusted. After a few weeks, she mentioned that he could leave if he wanted.

Marcus was excited over her progress. He met with Clint and Natasha every weekend with updates, pointing out where Gracia excelled and offering suggestions for areas she lagged behind.

"I don't know about the social stuff, but she's catching up to where she needs to be in school," he told them one day. "She loves schoolwork, I'm surprised how much she does by herself. In a few weeks she might be ready to join a class."

"That's great," Clint said, beaming at Marcus.

"A few weeks?" Natasha asked. She was delighted at Gracia's progress, but she couldn't stifle a squirm of anxiety in her stomach.

Was Gracia _ready_ to go to school? Melanie had been hinting at something along the same lines, but it hadn't made sense until someone said it outright. Gracia had become better at socializing, but was she ready to interact with children her age? What did ' _children her age'_ even mean? What scale was Gracia supposed to be graded on? Nothing normal seemed to apply.

Clint noticed her apprehension, but waited a while to address the subject.

"What're you thinking?" he asked that evening, leaning against the door frame of their bathroom.

Natasha glanced at him from the bed, shrugging as she folded laundry. "That you need fewer socks. They fill half the basket every time we do a load of white clothes."

He smiled, but it was his serious smile, not the humored one. "I was talking about Gracia."

Natasha let out a sigh. She folded a t-shirt and listened to Gracia laugh at the tv downstairs. "I don't know."

Clint walked over and stood by the bed, hands in his pockets as she stacked another pair of socks on his pile. Natasha chewed over her thoughts, wondering where she needed to start. Pleasure or concern, relief or worries?

"I…am so _happy_ she's doing well," she began. "You don't even know how far she's come, Clint. Back in the boarding house, she wouldn't speak to anyone. Not even me, not for a long time. I didn't know if she could read or do math or anything. She could fight to survive, but that was in the boarding house, that wasn't the same as out here. Gracia is doing _so well._ "

"But you don't want to rush her?" he guessed.

Natasha braced her hands on the sides of the laundry basket. "What if we already _are?_ She's doing well, yes, but what if it's not enough for school? I have no idea what she's going to face. When I was in school it was _hard._ Those kids weren't _kids,_ not like the kind you see around here or on tv. They were _mean._ I don't want to throw her back to the wolves."

"Natasha, come on," Clint said. He took her hands and sat beside her. "Both Marcus _and_ Melanie agree on this. Plus, you just told me she was a survivor. Whatever those kids dish out, I'm sure she's dealt with worse."

"I don't want her to deal with anything at all!" Natasha said. "I promised her that I would take care of her, that I would make things _better._ When I left the boarding house I looked her in the eye and I _swore_ I would help her."

"That's what you're doing, Nat."

"I'm not so sure most of the time," she mumbled. "And what if we can't even _keep_ her in school? What if the court rules against us and she has to go live with someone else? They're not going to keep her in whatever school we put her in!"

" _Tasha,_ Matt and Foggy are confident they can—"

"But they don't _know,_ " she insisted. "No one can! Hell, Clint, what if we mess this up by offering her something then taking it away? I don't want to hurt her even more because I can't follow through on my promises."

She leaned into his shoulder and Clint wrapped his arms around her.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured. "That's a possibility, yeah, but sometimes we gotta take a leap of faith. And...I guess that's where we ask her, instead of making all the decisions on our own."

Natasha actually managed to laugh. "That seems scarier, somehow."

"Yeah, but that's something we've gotta do eventually. Here, come on," Clint said. He pushed Natasha upright, then stood up. "Let's go ask her now."

" _Now?"_ Natasha demanded. Her heart skittered in her chest, but allowed Clint to haul her to her feet.

Natasha forced herself to appear calm as they walked down to the living room, but she couldn't help holding Clint's hand in a vice. It didn't help that Gracia noticed something was about to happen the moment they appeared on the landing. She gave them a cursory glance, then her eyes snapped back. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to stay or run, weighing the pros and cons of both.

"Gracia, we want to talk to you about school," Clint began. Natasha could have kissed him right there for how _easy_ he made it sound.

"School?" Gracia asked. She frowned and tilted her head, gaze flicking to Natasha for confirmation. "Is there something wrong with Marcus?"

"Nope, nothing's wrong at all. In fact, he said you've been doing really well," Clint said.

Gracia relaxed a little, the suspicion going out of her face. "So…what about it?"

"Since you've made so much progress, we were wondering if you…wanted to try going to school." Natasha made herself say it, made herself be a part of this discussion. It was beyond terrifying, but this was something she had to do. She had to involve herself in the difficult things, even when they had the possibility of going so horribly wrong. Clint squeezed her hand, like he could feel her pulse ratcheting through her fingertips.

"School?" Gracia repeated. She looked down at her lap, thinking. The tv chattered on, forgotten in the moment. "…What kind of school?"

"We're not sure. I think we should probably talk to Melanie about the details, but we wanted to get a read on how you were feeling," Clint said.

Gracia sighed and looked at the ceiling. She seemed surprised by the suggestion and needed time to consider it.

"It's okay if you say no," Natasha added.

She stared into Gracia's eyes, trying to convey every confusing, conflicted feeling in her chest. She gave a slight nod in acknowledgement then took a deep breath. Natasha held her breath, waiting for Gracia's pronouncement.

"That's okay, I guess. School sounds fine."

"Alright," Clint grinned. "What're you watching?"

"Loony Tunes," Gracia said. She scooted over so he could sit with her on the couch.

"They brought them back to tv?"

"This is a new show. The old ones only play at night," she explained, curling up against the armrest.

Natasha watched them for a moment, then got herself a drink from the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, heart still hammering in her chest. She could have laughed out loud from sheer relief.

 _i'm so glad things are working out for her, too. so what about custody? what, the decision was made? tell me about that!_

Finally, after weeks and weeks of nervous waiting, Matt and Foggy helped them attain legal guardianship of Gracia. Despite frets over the state lawyers playing dirty, the case was easily dealt with. Nelson and Murdock smoothed over any questions of Clint and Natasha's suitability as guardians, reminding the court again and again that they had overcome the ugliness of the past and were trying to build a better life for all three of them. It felt a little too easy to Natasha, but the thing that seemed to matter was that they loved Gracia. The fact that her only other options were the foster system or reverted guardianship to parents that had failed to even appear in court helped their chances.

Natasha couldn't beat back her excited smile after the verdict. She hugged Clint and Gracia outside of the courtroom, for once laughing and crying because she was entirely and completely and flawlessly happy. Gracia sobbed into Natasha's shoulder, scrubbing at her tears and trying to stuff back her shaky breaths as if still afraid people might see her be weak.

"We did it, Gracia, we did it, we're _okay_ , we're going to be together! We're get to make something better together," Natasha said, holding her tight. She almost burst into laughter again as she realized she had completed her promise to Gracia back in the boarding house.

Clint stood back a moment, smiling wide as he looked on his new family. When Natasha let Gracia go, the little girl stole a shy look at him and jolted over. She gave Clint a ferocious hug around the middle, face buried in his shirt. Clint stared down at her in shock, arms raised slightly to keep out of her way. Then, eyes still on Gracia, he slowly wrapped himself around her in their first hug.

Natasha pressed her hands over her mouth, delight bubbling up in the form of more laughter and thankful tears.

She glanced around and saw Foggy and Matt behind her, a few steps away. Natasha walked toward them, still beaming. Foggy returned her smile, but before he could finish his congratulations she grabbed him into a hug.

"Oh, uhm…thank you," Foggy said awkwardly, giving her a pat on the back.

"Thank _you,_ " she said, letting him go. "You two—you kept us together."

Foggy shuffled awkwardly, both pleased and embarrassed at her thanks. Matt's expression was a little confused as he tried to piece together what just happened.

"She, uh—" Foggy began, but Natasha beat him to it. She pulled Matt into his own hug, squeezing him tight.

He stumbled back a step, taken even more off guard than his partner. His cane jarred into her ribs, his frame was sharp, and his arms never really responded, but Natasha felt something small and sweet click into place between them.

" _Thank you,_ " she repeated, breathing the words into his ear. "Thank you for fighting for us. Thank you for saving us."

She felt him swallow, then clear his throat.

"You're welcome," he whispered, voice low and almost ragged.

Natasha pulled back and smiled at him. She hadn't known him for very long, and certainly not very well, but she felt that he had needed this. Simple as it was, short as it was, Matt had needed to deliver the knock out blow.

* * *

 _AN With some of the last big obstacles out of the way, Natasha can finally relax enough to properly enjoy her family._


	5. seven months

_AN I know, I know, it's been months. But on the upside, the last chapter will be out in just a few days! I wanted to sort out the ending before I posted this chapter, just so I knew exactly how to approach it with this chapter._

 _Thank you all for waiting patiently ;)_

* * *

 _so, gracia's first day of school. how did that go?_

With help from Melanie, Clint and Natasha enrolled Gracia in a private school. Natasha was torn between anxiety and excitement as she helped Gracia prepare. Gracia didn't talk about how she felt going to the school, but she frequently wondered aloud what it would be like when she actually got there. At the end of her lessons with Marcus, the two of them chatted about the different subjects she might learn about that he would help her with. Bit by bit, Natasha forgot her worries as she saw Gracia's delight.

This was how little girls were supposed to be. Not even a little girl, Natasha realized. Gracia was small, but she was fifteen. Already she had witnessed horrors no one should ever have had to. Just as Natasha was terrified and thrilled to cultivate her own slice of normal, Gracia was ecstatic to live the life of a typical teenager. And Clint was right; Gracia was tougher than any of the kids she was going to face.

Natasha dragged herself out of bed on Gracia's first day of school. It took her a few moments of mumbled cursing into her pillow as Clint climbed into the shower, but eventually she managed to get to her feet and stumble into Gracia's room.

"Gracia, it's time for school," she mumbled, gently shaking the girl's side. Gracia popped up and practically bounced out of bed, zipping past Natasha for her uniform. Natasha watched a little dazed as Gracia disappeared into her bathroom.

"Glad she's not worried," Natasha said to herself, then worked her way down to the kitchen.

She made them all a hearty breakfast, frying eggs and making toast and mixing up orange juice. Natasha froze in the middle of loading up their plates when she realized that she would again spend her days alone. Which was fine. This was about Gracia, not her. Natasha had managed being alone before, she could do it again.

She let out a long, slow breath, and went back to humming along with the radio.

Natasha, Gracia, and Clint ate together at the counter. Excitement mounted in Natasha as she ate, filling her until she was practically buzzing. Clint was laid back as always, teasing Gracia as she hurried to finish her food and brush her teeth.

"I think she's gonna do great," she told Clint after Gracia had left.

"I think so, too," he said. He leaned over and kissed her cheek as she cleared her plate, earning a surprised look.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"Trusting her to do well on her own."

Natasha leaned against the doorframe as she watched Gracia and Clint walk to the car. She smiled and waved good-bye, the shadow of Gracia's hug and Clint's kiss lingering with her. Gracia was going to be fine.

Natasha spent the day working to keep from noticing how empty the house felt. She cleaned up, took a shower, got dressed, then went shopping. Natasha took her time wandering aisles of first one store than another, picking out what she needed to restock the kitchen.

On impulse, she detoured to Brighton Beach instead of heading straight home. It was one of the little pleasures she only let herself have indulge in on occasion. Natasha smiled at the faded signs and the heavy accents, little bites of her childhood. Even after her family had moved to America, her mother had taken her to Brighton once a month to restock their kitchen on 'the essentials', as she liked to call them. Natasha smiled at the memories of her walking at her mother's side, both carrying bags heavy with an assortment of boxes and jars.

But as Diane was fond of saying, the best things in Natasha's life were in her future. The past held plenty of gifts, but the future had innumerable ones. Wandering a neighborhood that sounded and smelled and felt like the past was nice for memory's sake, but it wasn't where she wanted to stay. Natasha smiled as she descended back into the subway, ready to be whisked back home.

When Natasha met Gracia at the subway station after the school day had ended, all the girl could do was talk. Her eyes were bright as she chattered about the different subjects, her new teachers, the schedule, and kinds of people she had interacted with. Natasha was surprised at her energy, but it proved infectious and soon they were both grinning and laughing on the train home.

"Can I go with you to the shelter on Thursday?" Gracia asked as they walked home from the station.

"Of course. I just have to tell them I'll be coming in at night instead of the morning."

"Okay, good! I wanna tell Hiroto about my first day," she said, naming an elderly Japanese man she had bonded with at the shelter.

"I'm glad you had a good day," Natasha said, squeezing her shoulders.

She had expected to feel relieved if things had worked out alright at the school. But she hadn't expected such a burst of pride.

"I'm so _happy_ for her," she whispered to Clint that night. She saw his smile even in the dark.

"Me too. She was so pumped this morning, she could barely sit still."

"She was like that on the way home, too! She was just bursting with energy. I've never seen her so… _alive._ "

"Yeah," Clint mumbled into her neck. "This is what she should have been like from the beginning. And you helped bring her back to that."

"You and me," she said. Natasha kissed his forehead, unable to fight the smile spreading across her entire face.

 _so how are you feeling about the other case? it just ended, what are your thoughts on it? take as much time as you want to tell me. it's okay if you can't manage a lot, yet._

The next time Natasha walked into a court room, she wasn't as terrified. Now that she wasn't expected to take the stand, Kilgrave didn't spare her a second thought. He didn't even cast her a glance when he walked into the room. She didn't mean anything to him. She wondered if _anyone_ was important to someone like him.

The Landlord's eyes found her, though. There were a few times when Natasha glanced away from the lawyer or witness speaking and found _him_ staring at her. She was quick to turn away the first time, grabbing Clint's hand from panic. Clint turned to her, silently asking what was wrong. Natasha dragged in a breath, then let his hand go. The Landlord couldn't do anything. Not anymore. He couldn't make her do _anything._

She met the Landlord look for look after that. He seemed intrigued to find steel where there had previously only been ice. Fragile, fragile ice.

One or two other girls spoke, but they were paltry pieces. They had probably been seeking an out from the prison sentence hanging over their heads. Natasha had suggested Rae to Warwick, but that had been more out of duty than actual faith in the girl. It was probably for the best that Warwick dismissed her after a single meeting.

Alexandria, Natasha noticed, never took the stand. But she was there at every court date, watching the Landlord sink beneath his own depravity. Natasha almost walked into her once during recess, and the two stared blankly at each other, at a loss for what to do. They had hated each other in the boarding house. Alexandria had done everything within her power to hurt or remove Natasha from power, and Natasha had responded in brutal kind. But there they were, standing scant feet apart, both tired and grim and set on having the Landlord locked away.

Natasha nodded at the other woman, while Alexandria stalked away.

The strangest thing, though, was that Natasha didn't feel very much when she saw the Landlord sentenced. She felt hollow disbelief when he was declared guilty. It felt too easy. Despite the perilous back and forth, the brutal parade of her own mistakes and failings, despite everything…it felt too easy. It didn't seem real. He had been the hateful god lounging above her in the sky, and yet she had made him bleed.

She expected to feel icy, vindictive, selfish satisfaction when he was locked away. She expected the evil ice chips he planted in her soul to come raging back to life, carrying on his legacy. But she only felt numb, emptied out of all of his nastiness.

"We did it, Natasha," Clint whispered, hugging her and kissing her hair as the Landlord was led away. "Holy hell, we did it."

Gracia was again reduced to delighted tears, laughing and crying as she hugged Natasha and Clint like she might break. She kept babbling out unintelligible words through the hug and tears, but Natasha understood what she was trying to say.

They were free. She and Gracia and every other person that had been in the boarding house were _free._ And it was because Natasha had been brave enough to challenge him. Because they all were brave enough to challenge him.

Reporters flashed their cameras at her and demanded her opinion on the proceedings as they left the court house. As usual, she kept her head high and her eyes ahead and her hands locked tight in Gracia and Clint's. She wasn't worried about the Landlord anymore.

 _that is…just fantastic! i've been dying to hear what happened, but i knew you wanted to tell me in person. oh, natasha, that is just so good. i don't know what can top that, but is there anything else that's happened? what, you met clint's family?_

Natasha's worry over meeting Barney and Sharon for the first time culminated in cleaning the house to near non-existence. Gracia helped her at first, but she lost momentum after the second hour of heavy duty cleaning. When Natasha nearly broke into tears while vacuuming dust from around the baseboards, Clint decided to intervene.

"Natasha, it's fine for things to _not_ be perfect," he said. He was almost wary as he approached her defensive position behind the vacuum cleaner. She pressed her lips together, clutching the cord in a death grip.

"I just want things to be _nice,_ " she said, borderline hissing the words. Clint's look of shock was enough to make her snatch up the slack on the cord and stalk toward the laundry room to put the vacuum cleaner away.

Clint followed after her, voice gentler than before. "Natasha, you wanna talk to me?"

She clenched her teeth hard enough to make her jaw ache. She wasn't going to break because of this. She was _not_ going to give in to the tears pricking at her eyes. She did stop for him, though.

"Tasha, Tasha, hey," Clint said, trying so hard to be soothing. Natasha stared at the wall as he turned her around. At least they were tucked off away from the main room. Somehow the little hallway leading to the downstairs bathroom and the laundry room felt private. "Look at me. What's up? Why're you freaking out?"

She pressed the insides of her wrists into her eyes as she forced herself to drag in a breath. She wouldn't have cried if Clint hadn't stopped and shown he was worried about her. She would have powered through and been strong about this. Now her throat was closing up and her face burned and she felt completely and hilariously out of control.

"I'm not—this is—"

Natasha took another deep breath. She didn't have to answer right away, Diane was always telling her she could take her time with things. Clint would wait for her to speak.

"This is your _family,_ " she said, lowering her hands from her face. "They're important to you and they're meeting us for the first time. And I want to impress them. This—this is strange, isn't it? Us, we're strange."

"Nat, hey, no, I don't think we—"

"Not just our history, that's weird enough, and how we met is—I'm not talking about that. _Us_ being here together. Me living with you, Gracia being our responsibility. This isn't normal."

"No, it's not," Clint said, looking her dead in the eye and telling the truth. "This isn't what lot of people do. This isn't how relationships start or what they progress to or whatever. But I'm okay with that. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you want it to stay this way?"

" _Yes,_ " she said, flashing him an almost hurt look at the suggestion.

"Okay, then I think we're square. What's my family have to do with it?"

"What are they going to think when they see us? They don't know how we met, right? They don't know that Gracia and I used to be _whores._ "

Clint's jaw ticked at her words. His words were like iron when he spoke; warm and strong enough to haul her upright. "Natasha. Don't do that, don't call yourself that. You _used_ to be in the business, yeah. We both used to be a lot of things. But that doesn't matter, alright? That's not something you're gonna have to worry about, not with Barney and Sharon. Not with _anyone._ I told you I'd break anyone's nose if they gave you crap about your time on the streets, right? I meant that, Natasha, hell or high water, I'm _here_ for you."

"I know," she whispered, more tears springing to her eyes. "I know, I know. But…I don't want to be something you have to _defend._ I want to impress them on my own."

"So you're cleaning this place to oblivion?"

"I can keep this house," she said. "I can take care of you. I want them to know that."

"Hey, come here," he said, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing all of her anxiety out. She held her breath, hating how her tears stained his shirt. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she never had to leave the safety of Clint's warm embrace. "That ain't something you've gotta worry about, okay? Anyone who looks at us knows you've got us covered. Don't worry about that. Barney and Sharon are good people. They've seen some shit, and a little more's not gonna scare them."

"I don't _want_ to be shit," she said, voice torn between a laugh and more tears.

Clint pulled back and held her face. His little boy blue eyes were honest and kind as he watched at her. "You're not, Tasha. I promise you that. It's just you've been through a lot. You choose what that's gonna do to you."

She nodded and pressed her hands against his. He smiled then kissed her forehead, nose, and finally her mouth.

"Come on. I'll put the vacuum away, you take a shower, give yourself a moment to breathe, and then come downstairs. Dinner will be great."

Natasha dragged in a deep breath, then nodded. She trusted Clint. More than anything, she trusted him.

Dinner, of course, was wonderful. They all were a little tense when Barney and Sharon walked through the front door, but after Barney's big smile and easy going, "Barney Barton. Good t'meet ya," Natasha felt at ease. Clint's brother and soon to be sister-in-law were kind, straightforward people. They didn't know about Natasha and Gracia's past, but they did know that Clint had welcomed them into his life and they loved him. Everything else would come in time.

Despite her initial shyness, Gracia warmed up to them immediately. Barney proved to be an incorrigible joker, sending Gracia into fits of laughter every few minutes. Clint fed off his brother's energy, becoming more animated than Natasha was used to. Sharon rolled her eyes good-naturedly and mouthed an apology to Natasha, which caught her by surprise. There was a strange solidarity that came with loving one of the Barton brothers, one that Natasha had never expected to exist. She gave Sharon a slight smile and said it was fine, because it truly was. This was what family was supposed to feel like, of that Natasha was certain.

When Barney and Sharon left, Gracia furiously waved at them from the door. She stood there, door open, arm pumping as their car pulled from the driveway. Natasha smiled as she put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. Clint walked up and leaned against her, hands anchoring on her hips.

"Thank _God_ that went so well," he sighed, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

Natasha cast him a look without disturbing him, smiling in relief and amusement. She wasn't at all surprised he had prioritized reassuring her when he had his own doubts. At one point, Natasha would have thought him concealing his worries from her to be a lie, but now she understood that was him trying to deal on his own. Clint probably couldn't have handled his worries about having dinner with his brother, not when they were rooted in such a long history of pain and mistakes. But he could help Natasha with her own, and if Natasha had learned one thing, it was that Clint was determined to help.

* * *

 _AN okay that throwaway line about potentially no one being important to kilgrave wasn't a throwaway line, i was totally talking about jessica and yes i know i'm a monster for even mentioning it but it's okay, she's got a million mile restraining order on him and the black belt to break his neck if he ever goes near her again. i just wanted you all to know that she exists and is also dealing with her trauma._

 _In all seriousness, though,_ _I am just very sold on the Bartons and their significant others coming together to be this fantastic super family that are there for each other, through hell or high water. I don't have the words to show the fantastic feel-good things they get up to with each other, but know it is there and it's very important to me._


	6. nine months

_AN Thank you everyone who has been with me from the beginning of this series, and for everyone who's come in after. This final leg of Natasha, Clint, and Gracia's journey is so, SO important to me. **eyes blue** and **poor boy** were all about recognizing your problems and seeking help to fix them, but **come rain or come shine** is without a doubt my declaration that no matter how hideous life has been, you can always make something better. It's been a treasure to share it all with you._

 _There will be another addition to the series, this time from Matt's POV. That should be out in a few days, so please keep an eye out._

 _Now, please enjoy the final chapter of_ **come rain or come shine.**

* * *

 _how have things been lately?_

"I was thinking. Gracia's birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. Were we going to do anything with her?" Natasha asked. She held her breath, praying she sounded casual. She stood still as the showerhead pounded water down on her, waiting for Clint's response.

He hummed around his toothbrush, then spat into the sink. "I haven't thought about it too much, but I expected we'd do something. Has she said anything about it?"

"Not really," Natasha huffed. "I think she's worried about sounding greedy."

Clint sighed and Natasha heard him run the tap. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

Gracia had mentioned a few things she wanted, idly throwing out ideas like a music player or a couple of books. Natasha knew she was dying to ask about a phone, though she didn't know how to raise the subject.

The door to the shower slid back, making Natasha jump as cold air touched her side. Clint slipped in beside her, grumbling at the hot water.

"Hells bells, you realize this is boiling, right?" he asked. Natasha laughed and adjusted the temperature for him.

"Gracia told me a while back that she wanted to go to the beach. Maybe we could go to a swimming pool?" Natasha suggested. Gracia's mid-fall birthday put it in an awkward place, weather-wise. There were still some mild days, but Natasha didn't want to play roulette when sleet was involved.

"No, we could go to the beach," Clint said. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his stubble just long enough to tickle her skin. Natasha craned her neck to look back at him in doubt. "I don't think we can go swimming without _dying,_ yeah, but we could still go," he said.

"Where?"

"I know a guy on Long Island, he's got a summer house on the beach. And if nothing else, we could go play in the sand."

"That could be good. As long as it doesn't start snowing." Natasha's long nights on the street had made her aggressively resistant to the cold.

"I think that could be kind of cool," Clint mused. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and said, "We'll think about it."

Natasha smiled and kissed him back, closing her eyes as she tilted her head to reach his mouth. His kisses tasted like toothpaste.

Clint put his hands on her waist, making her draw in a breath. This was the decision point, and it always seemed to come too soon.

Clint and Natasha didn't have sex anymore. After working in the boarding house, after so many nights of them both being stained with doubt and fear, Natasha wasn't interested in anything physical. Not like that. She liked touching him; sleeping next to him, hugging him, getting tiny, innocent pecks before he left for the day, but not much more. Natasha had never said it out loud, but Clint had always complied. They had been through far too much for him to start pushing her now.

Someday, though, once she stopped questioning everything she did, once she felt confident that she deserved this new life, maybe she would feel comfortable enough to try again.

Clint noticed her tense, because he rested his forehead against hers. Natasha cracked open an eye, trying to smother her feelings of guilt. The water pounded against her back, reminding her of the last time they had been in a shower together. She had been a prostitute, he had been her customer. She had been faint from hunger, he had helped her out of the shower and to bed.

Even then things had been too idyllic for words. Twisted and painful as the whole journey had been, Natasha knew she had been blessed more than she probably deserved.

She put her hands on his neck, more a gesture of comfort and stability than of passion. Clint smiled at her, a tiny little thing meant for no one else.

"I love you, y'know that?"

"I know," she whispered. "And I love you."

"Good." He kissed her again, a quick thing that sealed the words to their lips. "'Cause you're stuck with me now. You're going to be old and grey before you're rid of me."

Natasha smiled at him, suddenly overwhelmed with thankfulness.

"I never would have gotten here without you," she told him.

Clint gave her a look, not taking the easy route and making a joke out of her comment. They'd never really talked this out; the terrible might-haves that had filled their lives. It had probably been a conscious effort on Clint's part. "Yeah, you would. You're determined, Nat. Isn't that what Dianne's always saying?"

"No, listen. Before you, before everything, I was…I don't know, _resigned_ to the boarding house. It was the only thing I could picture for myself. But then you came and helped me find what I want."

"But, Nat, I—I was _horrible_ to you," he said, voice breaking ever so slightly. He leaned back, like maybe Natasha needed a more complete look at him. "Pretty much that whole time—"

She shook her head, strands of wet hair sticking to her shoulders. "We both did some horrible things. But knowing you made me realize I didn't want to _hurt_ anymore. Even after I went back to the boarding house, I knew I couldn't stay. I wanted a _home._ "

Clint watched her for a long moment. He put his hands on her shoulders, expression deadly serious.

"And am I giving you that? Have I made up for every _bad_ thing I did to you?"

She broke into a smile, surprised at the warmth of tears in her eyes. A man that helped save her from the nightmare that had been her life would have done all that, even if she never saw him again. But Clint offered her a place to live, took care of a little girl she loved, _and_ let her have as much space and time as she needed. Even if he _hadn't_ already canceled out the imaginary debt between them, he was well on his way to fulfilling it.

" _Yes,_ Clint, yes. Of course you have."

"Good." He pulled her into a hug, chin on her shoulder. She hugged him back, holding him tight and swearing she would never let him go. "And you gotta promise me you'll never let another person treat you that way ever again. You or Gracia."

"Of course," she repeated, so, _so_ thankful they both had had the opportunity to grow into better versions of themselves.

 _oh, gracia's birthday, that's exciting! how is she doing?_

Natasha was doing the dishes when the phone rang. It was the school secretary, her voice flat and dispassionate as she verified if she was Gracia's caretaker. Natasha's stomach tightened as she said, yes, she was Natasha Romanoff.

Worst case scenarios flittered through her head, making her hand tighten on the phone. But it wasn't a fire, or a lockdown, or anything at all, really. Just the notification that Gracia's behavior had been inappropriate, and that it would be appreciated if Natasha came to speak with the principal.

She blinked, not sure what to do with the woman's brisk tone and the sharp _click!_ of the phone hanging up.

Natasha took the train to Gracia's school, nervous in her airy blue blouse and neat cream pants. She knew what was acceptable for the street in just about any situation. A meeting with the principal about Gracia's behavior, though, that was new territory for her.

She sat on her hands to keep from fidgeting. Part of her was worried she was doing this wrong, somehow, like maybe she had misunderstood what was supposed to happen. Most of her, though, wondered what the hell had happened with Gracia. She _loved_ school, she would never do something to endanger her time there.

The secretary in the front office was just as clipped as the woman on the phone. "Come with me, Mrs. Romanoff. Gracia's in the principal's office."

"Uh—it's actually 'Miss'," she corrected, hurrying after the thin woman behind the desk. She turned back and cast a look at Natasha, as if reappraising her. Natasha cleared her throat, not ready to deal with the stigma of living with a man she wasn't married to.

"Can you tell me what's wrong, though? In the phone call, it just said Gracia—"

"Hold on a moment, I'll let Mrs. Parson explain," the woman said. They stopped in front of the door, which the woman knocked on before gesturing Natasha inside.

Natasha hesitated, then stepped in. Gracia sat in a chair before a desk. She looked small and miserable, hands clasped tight in her lap. She glanced at Natasha, her brown eyes large with fear.

The woman behind the desk looked severe. Her hair was cut in a blond bob, and her makeup was the understated style Natasha was beginning to associate with a respected, wealthy woman. She cast an eye over Natasha, who tried not to fidget. People could stare at her naked all day long, but she would always second guess her clothing decisions.

"Miss Romanoff, I'm Principal Parson." She stood to shake Natasha's hand, but didn't step toward her. Natasha moved closer and shook her hand over the desk, then sat beside Gracia. Her chair, she noticed, was lower than Parson's.

"You have been called here because of a frankly outrageous display of violence by Gracia. We value respectable behavior here at Lyle, and all of our girls know raucous behavior is not tolerated."

"What did she do?" Natasha asked, stomach sinking. Gracia slumped farther in her seat.

"She attacked another student physically and verbally during break. From various reports, Gracia used absolutely foul language and scratched the girl's face and arms."

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you attack her?" Natasha asked, turning to Gracia. Parson pursed her lips.

"Apparently the two were in an altercation. The other girl said something to upset Gracia, but no matter how upset Gracia became, she never should have resorted to a _fist fight_ until she drew blood—"

"So the other girl started it?"

Gracia gave a tiny nod. Parson sighed through her nose as if to show she didn't appreciate being ignored. Natasha looked back at her, irritated that this woman wasn't letting her speak to Gracia and find the facts for herself.

"It does not matter _which_ girl started it, Miss Romanoff. We teach _control_ in this school, not delinquency."

"Then tell the other girl to control her insults."

Natasha knew lashing out wasn't the answer (both Natasha and Gracia's therapists were quick to jump on _that_ behavior), but she didn't consider Gracia's actions the atrocity Parson seemed to think. Submitting to another's cruelty was just inviting more, the boarding house had made that _very_ clear. Besides, if Gracia had been pushed to actually _hitting_ someone…

"I did not call you here to discuss the other girl," Parson said flatly. "Gracia _cannot_ resort to violence under any circumstance. The proper thing to do would be to tell a teacher, if the matter couldn't be settled civilly between the two girls. I appreciate that Gracia has had a difficult life and that she has alternate expectations from our other students. But she has come here for improvement. Therefore—"

"You have no idea what she's seen," Natasha said coldly. Not icily, she still managed to do without her ice, but there was a chill in Natasha's throat. This woman clearly couldn't understand why Gracia might 'act out'. Not unless she could fathom the boarding house, which her crisp maroon suit and perfect bob said was entirely impossible.

"Gracia has dealt with worse than cruel school girls," Natasha continued. "She wouldn't attack over a single insult. _This_ is something you need to monitor, not Gracia's _language._ "

"It was the fact Gracia refused to tell a _teacher_ and resorted to her own methods—"

"She doesn't _trust_ most people in power," Natasha pointed out. She grit her teeth, biting back a snarl. This woman was just trying to do her job. She wasn't like Alexandria, she wasn't trying to hurt them for entertainment's sake.

Parson let out a slow breath and softened ever so slightly. "I mean it when I say I appreciate what Gracia has gone through. I don't know the fine details, but I feel for her struggle. But she _has_ to know that it is unacceptable for her to not adhere to our rules. The other girl in question is likewise being disciplined. As you put it, she _did_ 'start the fight'. In future, however, Gracia, _please_ tell a faculty member if you're having trouble." Parson turned to Gracia as she spoke, earning a slight nod. She looked back at Natasha, a worn smile on her face. "Although, I would be surprised if the girl didn't think twice before harassing Miss Ramirez again."

Gracia stayed quiet as they walked to the subway. She stared at the ground, mouth an unhappy line. When they were a block from the townhouse, she muttered, "I didn't think you would stand up for me."

Natasha looked at her in surprise. "What? Why would you think that?"

Gracia shrugged, eyes still on the ground.

"I've saved you from bigger animals than that," Natasha smiled, bumping Gracia with her hip. Her heart flew into her throat when she saw Gracia scrub a tear from her cheek.

"But—but I messed up," she said, voice breaking. "I'm supposed to be _good_ now, I'm supposed to be like everyone else and not make trouble. But I did and I know how hard you and Clint fought for me, and I let you down."

"Gracia, hey, look at me," Natasha said. She faced her, hands on Gracia's shoulders. "No matter what happens, I'm still going to stand up for you. Clint too, he's not going to throw you away."

Gracia stared at her, heavy teardrops still falling from her eyes. "And he's not gonna get mad? He's not gonna cancel my birthday? Because I know people do that even outside of the boarding house—they take away rewards when people act up, and I just—I really, _really_ wanted a birthday."

Natasha pressed her lips together, trying not to let her heartbreak show. She pulled Gracia into a hug, squeezing her tight. "We love you, Gracia. Nothing's going to change that. And he's not going to take away your _birthday,_ honey. He's going to understand what happened, don't you worry."

Gracia buried her face in Natasha's coat, hiding her tears. She held her for a few moments, then pulled away. Gracia slipped her hand into Natasha's, though she kept her head down.

"What did the other girl say to you, anyways?"

Gracia kicked at a pebble. "She called me a whore and said I only got in because I slept with someone. Or you did." Her grip tightened on Natasha's hand. "I couldn't let her say that about you."

Natasha sighed, not sure what to do with the swell of honored pride in her chest.

"Next time, _do_ tell a teacher. But thank you," Natasha said. "I think it was brave to stand up for someone else even when you knew you'd get in trouble for it."

Gracia didn't say anything, but she flashed Natasha a quick, fully fledged smile.

 _oh, I'm glad to hear that it went over well. how did her birthday go, then? you told me you had some big plans._

As expected, it was cold on Gracia's birthday. She kept checking the windows as they got ready, nervous at the gloomy skies and wind.

"Kid, I promise, it'll be fine. If it's really miserable today, we'll pick a day during the summer," Clint told her as they packed hot chocolate.

" _Promise_ promise?" she asked.

"Cross my heart," he grinned, tousling her hair. "Now go make sure you've got a change of clothes."

"I've already got it in the bag," Natasha said. She looked them all over, then nodded. "I think we're good."

Gracia bounced out to the car ahead of them. Natasha smiled when she saw her already glued to her brand new phone.

"We all set?" Clint asked, meeting her by the door.

"Yes. Let's go."

As they walked out to the car, Natasha couldn't help but grin at the butterflies in her stomach. This was their first outing as a family. They'd eaten out or gone to movies before, but this was different. It would just be the three of them, all enjoying the day together.

During the drive to Long Island, Barney and Sharon called. Natasha watched Gracia break into an enormous, amazed smile as they sang "Happy Birthday" to her.

"Y'know, I'm honestly impressed they remembered," Clint whispered as Gracia told them about her plans for the afternoon. "Barney's always been absolute _shit_ with dates, I swear."

"That'll probably be Sharon, then," Natasha said, recalling his prim fiancée. "When are they getting married?"

"Uhhhhhm…early December? Maybe?"

"And _what_ were you saying about Barney being bad with dates?"

"Okay, look, it's either early December or late November. Sometime soon-ish."

"The invite is on the fridge, you'd think you'd remember this."

"You'd sure think," Clint said, trying to smother a smile at her clucking. "We're gonna have to take Gracia out of school to go."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," she said, glancing back to where Gracia was just finishing up on the phone.

The beach was empty when they arrived. It varied in shades of grey, from the surly dark waves to the clean brightness of the sky. Gracia was excited despite the gloomy weather, bouncing where she stood.

"Can I just go?" she asked.

"Hold on," Natasha said, gesturing at her. Gracia stepped closer, and Natasha kissed her hair. "Happy birthday, honey. Now, go ahead," Natasha told her. She zipped off, kicking up sand behind her.

Natasha linked arms with Clint as they walked after her, carrying the bags. The air on the beach was fresher than the city—sharp and salty from the water.

"I'm always surprised at New York," Natasha mused. Gracia danced around the sea foam ahead of them, waiting until the last second to leap back from the approaching water. "I've lived here for _years,_ and yet I've never been to the beach."

"To be honest, they're mostly not that much fun. I mean…sand, water, wind, what more is there to like?"

"I think the people you're with help."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Clint said. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder, and for a moment, Natasha wanted to cry.

She had spent all of her adult life thinking that this right here, this _family,_ was something she was never allowed to have. She had envisioned the rest of her days in the boarding house, until some new tragedy came along and ended everything. She had thought she'd be alone, pathetic, miserable, and hurt until the day she died.

"I'm so happy we did this," she said, fighting against the lump in her throat.

"Yeah. I'm glad I've got you two," Clint said, squeezing her tight.

He whistled to get Gracia's attention and waved her over.

"C'mon, let's make a _killer_ sand castle," he said, holding out a bag to her. Gracia zipped over and rummaged around for a cup they had brought for that exact purpose.

"Wait, wait, pictures first," Natasha said. She dug into her pocket for her phone and gathered them together.

She grinned and took a few more pictures as Clint and Gracia plunked down on the wet sand. She breathed in the salt air, stretching her lungs and filling herself with the hope of fresh possibility.

She had come so, _so_ far. They all had. And yet, this was just the start.

"Scoot over," she told them. "I'm going to give this castle a _fantastic_ moat."

 _well, natasha, i'm very glad to hear it. i'll see you next time. i wish your family well._


End file.
